


what’s done in the dark will be brought to the light

by windychimes



Category: Bastion
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windychimes/pseuds/windychimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rucks shares his past with the Kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what’s done in the dark will be brought to the light

The Kid never asks about pasts. His own past is splotchy and torn, and he never asks what he wouldn’t freely tell. But the others have shared theirs with him, shared their pain with someone they can trust, someone who won’t judge, someone who will never judge. Zia’s shared hers, in quiet heart-to-hearts; Zulf’s shared his in bits and pieces, when the drink didn’t overpower the pain. Rucks, though… Rucks hasn’t breathed more than a word. A tour on the Wall, a few job changes. No explanation, nothing more than a grain of truth in a desert of lies. A few mentions of the War, a few slips, but nothing more. Not even Zia’s fluttered lashes and sweetest smiles can drag the words out of him.

But the Kid has something Zia doesn’t. The Kid has the same blood on his hands that Rucks does. The Kid’s seen things only Rucks understands, things the others never will. Things the others never should.

The fire crackles in the still night air, the only sound besides the murmured chirps of crickets and the soft breathing of the animals. Zia and Zulf went to bed long ago and only Rucks and the Kid are awake now. They sit in the comfortable silence they’ve grown accustomed to and the Kid stares down the neck of his bottle.

“Rucks,” the Kid starts, turning his bottle in his hand like he turns his words in his heads, “you never say much about your past.”

“Ain’t much to say,” Rucks responds. He shrugs. “At my age, I got a lotta past. Ain’t worth goin’ over.”

“You know everyone else’s, though.” The Kid watches Rucks for any sign of emotion. His expression betrays nothing. “Shouldn’t you share a little?”

Rucks chuckles. “Already shared enough, Kid. Already shared enough.”

The Kid shakes his head. “Never said why you fought in the War, or worked on the Calamity. Can’t expect us to never ask about those.”

Rucks snorts. “You wouldn’t want to hear about those. Those were some dark days, days that ain’t worth repeating.”

“But I wanna know.” The Kid looks at Rucks, the same determination in his eyes he gets when he has a job to do, no matter how big or small. “The others are sleeping, you can tell me. After everything’s that happened… I understand. Wish I didn't, but I do.”

Rucks is quiet, turning his own bottle in his hands, then finally says, “S’pose I owe you that much. You did things no man should. What do ya wanna know?”

The Kid drums his fingers on the ground, going over his next words in his head. “Why’d you fight in the War?” he settles on.

“Drafted,” Rucks answers, taking a swig of his drink. “Was fifteen. Used to brag to the girls about what a good shot I was. No idea it’d get me into so much trouble. You’re lucky you weren’t around back then; boy big as you, you woulda been drafted in an instant.” His face turns dark. “Lucky you didn’t see the things I seen.”

The Kid finishes off his drink. “Want another Black Rye?” he asks. An expression like that deserves a drink. Rucks nods, and the Kid trundles off to get more. When he gets back, he hands Rucks his drink and asks, “What happened?”

Rucks shakes his head. “It ain’t worth repeating. Dark things happened, Kid, dark things. Things that’ll haunt me to my grave, as they should. Good men did bad, bad things.”

The Kid doesn’t push, doesn’t ask if Rucks was one of those good men. The Kid has his own demons, his own dark secrets to never see the light of day. Things that will never leave his lips, no matter how loose they get. Instead, he asks, “That why you worked on the Calamity?”

Rucks chuckles. “Always knew you were a smart one.” Rucks looks up to the night sky, stars and moon clouded over, and takes a drink of his Black Rye. “After the War, I never much cared for the Ura. Not after what they did. But genocide? Not something I’d want a hand in. But…”

Rucks goes silent. The Kid listens to crackle of the fire as he waits, listens to the gentle breeze through the grass. Long moments pass before Rucks finally continues and he says, “The Ura were planning an attack. Least, that’s what the word was. Couldn’t let another War break out. Those Ura bastards are crafty; they’d dig their holes, fill ‘em with spikes and bombs, cover ‘em up. Set trip wire mines everywhere. We survived on luck alone. Wasn’t rare to have a death a day, even more than that, sometimes. I couldn’t let another generation go through that. Couldn’t let more children die. We were barely old enough to leave our mother’s breast and we were thrust into battle. No one deserves to go through that.”

“But killing them all woulda fixed that?” The Kid’s brows furrow together. “Doesn’t mean something like that wouldn’t happen again, you know. We could’ve turned on each other.”

“I know,” Rucks sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know. You think I didn’t think of that? War could breakout even without the Ura. But the chance at a world without war, I was willing to take it. Wasn’t happy about it, but it’s what had to be done. Or so I thought, anyway. Didn’t know what Venn had up his sleeve. Didn’t realize how it’d all turn out.”

“Would you do it again, if you had the chance?” The Kid stares at Rucks but Rucks doesn’t meet his eyes. “If it wouldn’t a backfired, if it really woulda killed all the Ura.”

Rucks goes silent again. He looks at his drink a long moment, then takes a long drink of it. “…Don’t know,” he grumbles. “Wish I could say I wouldn’t, but I don’t know. Keep thinkin’ that if we restarted, I coulda stopped this whole Calamity from happening. Don’t think I don’t regret everything that’s happened. Don’t think I don’t wanna make things right. But… anything to avoid another war, Kid. Anything to avoid another war.”

“Didn’t avoid another war,” the Kid says, voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself. “I was the war. I never… never wanted to kill another person. Never thought I could. But I, I…”

Rucks puts his hand on the Kid’s shoulder. “You did what you had to. I did what I had to, back in the day. We’ve both done things we ain’t proud of, but we can’t change it. You made sure of that.”

Rucks has adjusted to evacuating, but he still has his resentments. The Kid doesn’t hold it against him. “S’pose so,” the Kid mumbles. “S’pose that’s what happens.”

The sun slowly rises over the horizon, streaks of light slicing through the dark. They both nurse their drinks, watching it, letting it flow over them, before Rucks says, “This old man’s been up too late. Better get to bed ‘fore it’s too late to go to bed at all.” Rucks stands and waves the Kid off. “G’night, Kid.”

“G’night, Rucks,” the Kid returns. He stands, pauses, and says, “…Thanks. Appreciate you sharing this.”

Rucks chuckles. “Glad you were willing to listen to an old man ramble on. Trust you won’t say anything on this.”

The Kid nods, and they part ways. The Kid goes to his tent and as he tries to fall asleep he thinks of Zia and Zulf, Zia and Zulf with their pale Ura skin, and their dark Ura hair, and their small Ura features. Zia and Zulf, his friends despite everything, Zia and Zulf, who would be dead and gone if the Calamity had gone right.

Zia and Zulf, who would be nothing more than stone statues without a person to care about them.

The Kid watches the sun rise through the gaps of his tent and he thinks about the War, about the Wall, about the Ura and the blood on his hands and he knows he made the right choice. Through all the pain and hardship and bloodshed, all the death and destruction, it’s better to move forward than let the past repeat itself, let the past grow worse. One genocide for another isn’t much of a switch, but what’s done is done. There’s no point in trying to remake a path when all it’ll be is death.

The sun is bright enough to light up his tent completely. Zia pokes her head in and says, “Kid, breakfast is ready.”

The Kid stands, and walks over to her, and pulls her into a hug so tight she gasps. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers. “Glad everyone’s here.”

It takes Zia a moment, but she hugs him back and pats his back. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” she murmurs. “We’re all glad you’re here.”

They go to breakfast, and the Kid eats in silence as Zia chats animatedly, and when he meets Rucks’ eyes, they share something unsaid. He did make the right choice, he can feel it. A past is something best left forgotten. All they have now is the future.


End file.
